The Last Knights of Cambria Book 1: Echoes of Gideon

Chapter 7: The invisible teenage history nerd

Disincorporation, from my research, simply means removing one's spirit, from one's body, so one can roam around, invisible. My body remains sleeping, and I can return to it at any time, in theory. Other magic users might be able to see me, but probably not unless they specifically cast some sort of spell. It's good for remote spying. And normally I would not choose to do it to my friends, but. Before we go much further I'd really like to see what everyone is up to, when I'm not around. The thing is, I don't blame them if they don't trust me yet. That's fine. But if we're going to be invaded I need to know everything, and so does my Reddit thread.
I lie back on my bed, breathing shallowly. And then, slowly, I focus all my energy, drawing magic to my core, then rip it from me.
It hurts, it hurts like I'm tearing my insides out. I bite on a belt to keep from screaming.
And then it's done. And I'm standing here in the cool tower, and I'm still lying there on the bed, eyes rolled up in my head. This is going to hurt when I go back, but at the moment I don't care. It's very cool.
I walk, quietly from the room. Who is my priority? Dancer? Yes, but I don't know where he is. I might have to devote myself to him another night. For now the easiest one is the King. Again, it's understandable he might not want to reveal his true nature to me, I am new here after all. That's to be expected. However, I want to know where his mind is at, and what is real intentions are. I may not find anything. But he and the Queen are the people I'm protecting and due to my status I need to know least what they're really like. And I know where to find them. Simple enough of a choice for my first spying venture.
I make my way down the stairs, I can move quicker this way I find, though I'm careful not to overdue it. I'm guessing the magic is going to cash in for the exercise the minute I get back in my body. Good in an emergency, however.
The Royal rooms are on the other side of the castle, I've been over there a few times running errands with Gareth, but nothing significant. I know which room is the King's. The Queen has another room, which isn't unusual for this time period. In fact it's a fairly modern notion that married couples must share a room, and a lower class one at that. Anyone with rooms enough would rather value their rest over sharing a bed. It isn't until the rise of the middle class that it becomes common to actually share a room. Certain kings, Edward IV to be specific, would have passages built so they could go visit their wife's room in private, but that was the exception not the rule.
It's late by now, and most of the servants are also in bed. We keep a small staff here. Unlike somewhere grand like Windsor palace.
In all technicality, Kings and Queens can hold court wherever, like, whatever palace they choose is theirs. In modern times we know Buckingham Palace to be the British Monarchy's main 'court' however, it didn't come around until Henry VIII. During this time period, again, assuming proper correlation with mine, Henry V will be using Windsor Palace as his main residence for receiving visitors and the like, while in England. He'll use Kenilworth Castle as a country home, it's an old Lancaster estate, I have several fun stories about it ask me later.
That said, a King (or Queen) has numerous houses and all to go and visit or live at, it's why princes and princesses are called by the house they were born at, e.g. if Queen Rhiannon had a child, then that kid would be called Prince/ess Whatever of Harlech, as a diminutive, if that sort of makes sense. Henry V was born at Monmouth castle, ergo he was Henry (of) Monmouth till he got the crown, sometimes the of is dropped, especially for minor nobility which Henry was to an extent when he was born. Some kings are born at the main palace, Edward III was born at Windsor, and so was Henry VI, but that's not the rule.
Point being, monarchs usually choose a grand palace that suits them, as their main residence, to entertain dignitaries and rest in between going to war and stuff. Someone like our Henry V has Windsor Palace as his residence if he say invites other nobility over to tea, but he's hardly in the country, usually on campaign, so he could hold court wherever in France he is, or at one of his estates at Scotland, for an entire winter or whatever. If memory serves, Edward III favored Windsor castle, he was born there, and then Henry VI was born there as well at his father's court, that's mostly due to timing and probably political climate. It's a matter of preference though and some queens (Philippa, wife of Edward III), would be too busy girlbossing around Europe to have kids at the main palace each time, they might favor a summer home for a hard pregnancy, or the baby might just be born while they're traveling.
In our case, in Wales, we have way fewer castles than Dear Henry Rex. And even Henry bothers mainly with Windsor if he's in the country, and I'm pretty sure he just leaves his wife there because it's easy and she probably isn't getting massive say in it. Other queens with more kids or more agency might choose somewhere more remote so they can be away from the major cities when they've got an infant or are ill having the child. Some queens, like Isabella of Louvre, had their own residence completely separate from where the king lived and held court. She apparently didn't like that, but it doesn't sound like such a bad deal to me.
Anyway, we have yeah probably several estates to choose from, but sometimes it makes sense to pick one. Harlech, evidenced by my now month long Reddit thread, is really great to defend. It's a small staff, sea air, perfect for an ailing king who is anticipating getting invaded. It's deep in Wales, making it hard for King Henry to march an army without us knowing it's coming, and due to the ocean cliffs it's very easy to defend even with limited numbers, protecting an already fragile king. A healthy king who could physically flee might pick a different seat, but this is practical and nobles can come and visit and he can hold court as necessary. My military history friends on the internet agree that if you're anticipating a warlord invading you, that's where you hide your king. Jasper Tudor's forces held out for like seven years here or something (Yes of the famous Tudor line, he was a half brother to Henry VI, that's not important information but now it's there).
So, yes, Harlech is tiny compared to most royal seats, but strategically it's a good move. The staff of the castle numbers something between fifty and a hundred, that's including the guard and my good self, with limited room for guests or entertainment. In fact, Dancer and I are pretty much the only resident entertainment. Most kings would have you know, court jesters, or just poets, musicians, depending on how fond they are of the arts, but usually resident artists about and animal trainers and handlers, as well as pets. The only luxury here is myself as court wizard, and then Dancer who can be found and asked to play the lyer or to recite poetry, or read aloud. That sounds like, kind of mean, but consider these people don't have Netflix. And it's not a bad deal for the resident artist/animal handler either. Geoffrey Chaucer had this role to an extent, you get to hang out and write poetry or whatever and be entertaining, and Edward II's animal handlers were paid very handsome wages to take care of his various pets.
Anyway, all that's a round about way of saying I can make my way through the castle fairly smoothly. The servants are all in bed, and I don't have to test my invisibility at all, which is almost disappointing.
I proceed to the King's chamber. It's less of a bedroom and more a private suite of rooms, nothing grand, just about the size of my mother's townhouse. The Queen has similar, but I just know the location, I haven't been over there.
I can see candle light from under the king's door, so I step through it, wincing as I feel the wood pass through me. That's gonna hurt when I get back to my body.
The King is awake, wrapped in a dark blue robe, and sitting in a chair by the fire. The Duke of Conwy sits across from him, in his usual black robes, legs folded below the knee and hands casually on the arm rests. I'm not accustomed to seeing the Duke this far into the palace and from his dungeon, but it makes sense that he'd come and visit his little brother under the cover of dark, and after the affairs of both their days.
"Will you not read it?" The king asks, holding up a piece of paper.
"I'll do as you ask," the duke says, sighing a little, shaking his head, "Whatever you decide."
"I know you're prepared for war. But we also must be prepared for peace. When I pass, then, this country is without a king, that is as bad as invasion. Henry will waste no time remedying that he has four sons now, he can close his eyes and point and pick a new prince of wales," the king says. Oh damn, how dare that idiot have procreated that much? I mean, it was likely given he didn't die when the first one was nine months old, but like really, we don't need that many people related to him.
"I know," the duke sighs, "But you're not dead."
"Jac," King Ellis smiles almost, "I know you would fight death for me. You cannot. You cannot fight this." He gestures to his own chest.
"I personally think I should be given the opportunity to try."
"Jac."
"Very well. What would you have me do?" The duke asks, leaning back a bit.
"I've drawn up motions that let Rhiannon rule as regent, for our son, and that if she does not bear our son by the time of my death you are my heir," King Ellis says.
"Why can't she be? The people would like her more than I."
"Yes, but you'll always be a man, of a noble family, there was some love for your father yet and at the very least King Henry will perhaps think twice about attacking your army. Conwy alone is a force to be reckoned with," the king says, "And she's still a child. She has wisdom, yes, and I do believe she could rule but not today, certainly not a pack of angry nobles not about to take orders from a girl."
"Aye," he nods, heavily, "I don't want it."
"I know. But I trust no one else, and you'd love this land, if only for how I love it, and you'd keep it for me, wouldn't you Jac?" He asks.
"You know that," the Duke says, looking into the fire, "Have you spoken to Rhiannon?"
"She knows my time draws short, yes. I told her I do not think I will live to see another summer," he says, coughing.
"Don't talk that way."
"I can feel it, edging closer. Like watching shadows grow, as day yields to night, the sun sinking into the sea one last time," he tips his head back, clearly struggling to breath, "It's like a weight Jac, forever on my chest. A brick, pressing down. And each day its heavier, and heavier, as though some giant leans upon it. And one day all breath with be crushed from me."
The duke winces, watching as his brother struggles to draw each breath.
"If I could bear your pain I would, if only for a day. You only need rest. You're stronger than twenty men, Elis, to get up and down from the ramparts and smile for us each day," the duke says.
"I wish I were," the king says, hand to his chest as he breaths shallowly.
"Have you told her all of it?" The duke asks, nodding at the papers.
"I've told her she can be regent if she has a child. And that I will not be giving her that child," the king says, thinly, "And that if she bears a boy that looks enough like me I do believe she can reign till he's of age and that you would aid her as Lord Protector. But I don't imagine I'll live see that. She's barely old enough to have a child. But if she should I trust you to dispose of the necessary complications?"
"It's what you keep me for."
"Aye and conversation, Jac. Any man who she chooses must carry that secret to his grave I think most would need your help on that end, making sure there's small distance to it, for betraying her. I'm not fond of many men, but perhaps she can locate an exception," the King says.
So wait, he's not going to have a child with her, and that's understood between them? The duke is far from surprised—so it's known his brother is infertile, or something of that kind? To do with his illness or is it separate? I mean, I'm glad he's not Biblically married to a fourteen year old. And he's not controlling he doesn't seem to care if she'd have an affair so that's also good I guess? Are we counting this as a win for feminism? It looks like it he's not forcing her to have a child with someone. And his two brothers would be prime candidates if he wants the kid to look him, but he hasn't brought that up so that's good. Lord Protector is a position ascribed to a noble who is helping a child king reign. Queens can and are named as regent if their husband is a feminist and they're old enough and entrenched enough. Lord Protectors have the power of the king in protecting the realm, usually it's a noble who is trusted, typically a brother or cousin of the King, but it's legally stated, not an assumed position. It's not strictly uncommon for a king to fail to have an heir, either due to infertility, age, death of a child, or what have you. Typically the King can name an heir, for example Richard II who was childless, named his closest male cousin, the next person in line to the throne, as he and his wife had no children, and he mentored most of his male cousins so that there were plenty of people ready, one of whom wound up becoming Henry V. Richard III similarly, after his son's death, named his nephew who was also next in line. This clears up confusion, and it's good business so your people know who's going to rule next. Henry VIII's final wife essentially forced him to write his daughters into line of succession, because he only had one son. So you can name girls, you can do whatever, but it's good practice to have a plan. In King Elis' case, he has no full siblings to produce nieces and nephews to name, the Duke is probably his closest male relative, and he's one with enough power to maintain the claim.
"You've heard the talk," the king says.
"I need you to know nobody but that sad wizard boy and maybe Gareth talk to me."
"Whatever. They think I should have a child by now, my father had two boys by this age," the king says, darkly. So Gareth plus another son who died in infancy or something? Even illegitimate, it was proof he could father a child, more than that a son.
"Yeah. Well," the Duke shrugs.
"You know you could take one for the team and give us a boy I could name as my heir," the king says, clearly playfully.
"We've been over nobody talking to me. And anyway, that would only mean I had to do the work anyway so what's the point?" the duke scoffs.
"That's true and think of the poor woman."
"You think 'cause you're dying I won't slaughter you and I honestly will, let me finish this whiskey. We don't know if being tossed in the moat would cure your ills," his eyes sparkle with mirth. I have little doubt he'd do it, if his brother were healthy. But as it is it's a sad reminder of is illness.
"Yeah, let's test that, Jac, in the dead of winter, put me out of my misery," the king says, leaning back as he breaths shallowly.
"You'll be grand, never know, summer might do you some good," the duke says, but he himself doesn't believe it.
"D'you remember, when my father took us to the harvest festival? Mother didn't want us to go, she said I would be scared in the crowds. I kept tugging on your arm and making you and Gareth dance with me," the King smiles wistfully.
"Yeah, I think that was the last time I saw the sun voluntarily."
"Probably was," they both laugh.
I back away towards the door. So I learned nearly nothing except they seem to be hiding nothing from me? That was little past what they'd say in my presence, and all fairly innocuous. Just planning for the king's death, and that he trusts his brother. It is interesting that he doesn't plan on having an heir. Admittedly she's a bit young to try, but they definitely were implying he's impotent. But given the complete and utter lack of medical knowledge how do they know? He's a bit young to have had other relationships, and in general, most men, that is kings, assumed their fertility until several wives proved otherwise. It's irrelevant to me, but from a historical perspective I'm vaguely curious as to what in this day and age would make them so casually finished on the subject. Superstition due to a curse or something? Perhaps, but they would have said that. No matter. At least I'm assured they have no ill intent toward Rhiannon and in fact are properly planning for her care in the event of his death.
I'm not spying on her then, that told me all I need to know and she's likely alone or with her ladies in waiting getting ready for bed.
I make my way back towards my tower. Next stop is Dancer. I already saw the Duke and I'd like to check on Gareth, but I don't know where he'd be this time of night.
In the end, I kill two birds with one stone. Gareth is entering the library just as I get there.
"You going to go to bed sometime?" Gareth asks, leaning in the doorway. Dancer is as usual at his desk reading.
"By and by, last I checked you're not my keeper."
"Last I checked you haven't said a word about going home or visiting family or anyone in fact. Someone's got to look out for you," Gareth says, shrugging a little.
"What? You're bored? The girls down at the pub tired of you? Or is it boys this week?" Dancer snarls.
"No, I remain popular. Thank you so much for your concern. I just felt like parenting a saucy mouthed teenager with three good limbs and no sense of self preservation."
"I self preserve just fine."
"Then let me see your damn arms."
Dancer swears. I know he's cut in the past I saw the marks. I'm interested that Gareth knows.
"I'm only trying to help you," Gareth says, gently.
"Help yourself, and leave me alone."
"Dancer. It's me or I'll tell the Duke you're not letting me see your arms. We've talked about this. You can roll up your sleeves and put every knife you have on that table, or I can go tell the Duke and he'll shake you till all the knives fall out, then we'll roll up your sleeves and bandage it up whether you like it or no. What's it gonna be? Cause I've got all night," Gareth shrugs a little.
Dancer swears again, tears shine in his dark eyes.
"I don't know what's in your head that you're doing this to yourself, but we're fond of you being alive, Danny. And finding you on the floor in your own blood once was sufficient," Gareth says, flatly.
"It's been a bad week. I'm fine now," Dancer whispers.
"Why's it been a bad week?"
Dancer shrugs.
"You can tell the duke, or me. Or Gideon you and he've been getting on is that all right? You like him?"
"You trying to set me up, Gareth?" Dancer snarls, arms folded tightly.
"He's your age or so, be nice if you had a friend I am well aware you don't have many and you seem to take issue to this so go on, pick someone, it's fine, you're not hurting my feelings, but someone is doing this because against my better judgement I'm used to having you about," Gareth says, smiling a little, but there's no happiness there. Just pain.
"I don't care about Gideon. He's nothing," Dancer says, shrugging a little.
"Sadie wasn't your fault. It wasn't up to you to stop her leaving."
Dancer scoffs.
"It wasn't. She went out, probably trying to go visit parents or something or whatever, that's not on you I know you think it is and she wouldn't want you getting worse, and hurting yourself."
"It's fine."
"Then show me your arms, now, blades on the damn table," Gareth says.
"You don't know anything do you?"
"I've got all night to play silly games, that's completely fine. I'll stand here till the Duke finds me and he'll shake you till all the blades fall out of your silly pockets and then we'll see what you've done to yourself. Or you can do it right now and bandage it up yourself and I'll watch you."
"I don't need you," Dancer says, tears bubbling in his eyes.
"That's really lovely, we're here anyway. At someone point I and the most insane man I've ever met started accidentally raising a family and I know you miss your sister, but you'd better be nice to your new brother till he gets used to your mean little personality," Gareth says.
"Gideon will leave. He's too clever to remain. We're going to lose if the English invade."
"I think you're underestimating him."
"Not us?"
"No, I'm not putting money on us winning, but I'm gonna die fighting so it isn't even gonna matter," Gareth shrugs.
"He'll leave."
"That boy's made of stronger stuff than you think. Jac's knocked him over and he'll hop up summoning his sword asking for more. Just because he doesn't know how to use furniture or look people in the eye and puts his hands in his mouth, doesn't mean he's not gonna be a force to be reckoned with."
"I'm really glad we got you a new pet, Gareth," Dancer says, his voice dripping with scorn.
"You taking your shirt off or what?"
Dancer curses, then, "I think even the boys like a please in there."
"I think we need to inflict you and your attitude problem on the enemy, let you talk King Henry to death. I personally think we should try. Like two hours, say it's a peace talk. You just drive the Saxons out of their minds. Anyway. Blades. Shirt. Now."
"I hope you die."
"I'm aware. Shirt. Duke'll be done with our brother soon he'll be wondering why I'm not bothering him. Then we meet the scrap for sword practice; you should come. It'd be fun."
"Well, at least I know you're not staring at my body," Dancer sneers.
"One game leg doesn't mean you can't swing a sword."
"My talents lie in other areas."
"Like shredding your arms up after mild inconveniences? Yeah, apparently. Shirt. Off."
"We truly do need to work on your delivery Gar. No wonder none of those strapping bowmen have taken a shine to you yet," Dancer sneers.
"You're so adorable, please keep talking, whatever helps you stay alive, that doesn't involve sharp objects," Gareth says, pleasantly.
Dancer swears, taking off a set knives from beneath his coat, "We really need to find you a different hobby, you've clearly got too much time on your hands."
"You don't have to tell me what's wrong in your head, but if it'd help. I think I've made my point that I'm only trying to help you," Gareth sighs.
"Your country thanks you for your service and banishes you to be inflicted on the Irish or better yet the Saxons."
"Dancer," he sighs, "Go on. You never know, I might be able to help."
"You, can't help me," Dancer snarls, tugging off his shirt, "I think that's obvious."
Both his arms are laced with angry red cuts. I wince. The older ones by his wrists are nothing, he's got deep gashes on his shoulders intercrossing solid white scars. He's got a couple on his chest but not that bad, and I can see scarring on the top of his hip leading to his twisted leg, an injury? I can't tell, but there's blood caked on his arms obscuring some of the marks.
"You want to keep sassing me while I clean these up then? You know you like insulting my imaginary love-life," Gareth says, smoothly, disguising pain in his face.
I back away. I'm not meant to see this. Dancer wouldn't want me to. It's not my business. Gareth is handling that situation as best he can.
I retreat back up to my room, and return to my body. That's intensely painful, but tears are already running down my face. What is wrong with me? I didn't trust my friends and I spied on them only to find out they're all taking care of each other—and being normal? Yeah, I found out Dancer is still cutting, and the King assumes he's going to die childless, but I didn't need that information. That's not for me, and they probably would have told me anyway. They were doing exactly what I would have anticipated. I didn't need to distrust them. And I won't again. They don't deserve that. And they wouldn't do the same to me Gareth spoke well of me. They were just living their lives. They don't deserve my mistrust.
I fall asleep for a few hours before my midnight fencing practice. I'm still sore from the disincorporation, but not too bad. I get myself up and ready for sword practice. I would think that after this long I'd falter or long to sleep a bit more, but, no, I'm eager as the first night.
I make my way down the stairs, and out to the courtyard. The Duke is waiting. Wordlessly, he tosses me a hand and a half sword, which I use magic to help me catch. Gareth doesn't join us, no doubt still with Dancer. I do not comment and I assume the duke knows.
Half way through the bout, we're both sweaty and I'm breathing heavily. The duke pauses, motioning for me to stop. He tips his head.
"What is it?" I ask, quietly.
He nods in the direction of the gatehouse. The queen stands there, in a pale purple dress and thick pants under it, and boots. Her hair is in one braid.
"I want to join," she says, walking into the moonlight, "I've seen you practicing."
"How?" We ask, confused.
"My window is right there," she points upward.
"Ah," I say.
"Ah," the Duke says.
"I was taught to defend myself, but not the art of combat. If we are to be invaded everyone should be armed. I plan on giving orders that all the women in the village be taught to hold a sword if they are not already able," she says, "The same for the servants. We are Welsh. We do not die without a fight."
"My lady," the Duke nods, "I can send you a tutor who is accustomed to beginners. I'm not that man."
"I've watched you with our Gideon. You'll do just fine, train me as you do him. I wish to learn so that I know what I'm requesting when I begin training the women," she says, hands on her hips.
"As you like, Your Majesty," he says, "Have you held a sword before?"
"Only daggers," she says, "And wooden practice swords. My mother showed me basic defenses, nothing extensive."
"Then this will be heavy enough for you. You two can spar—no you're not— he hits me with magic by accident, you'll spar with me and then Gareth will materialize eventually," he says, getting her a hand and a half sword from the few he'd brought. He brings extra in case Gareth doesn't have his.
"All right," she says, taking it, and not reacting to the weight as I'm sure I did. He picks up another sword.
"I'll fence him left, and you right, he's a bit used to me by now," the Duke says.
"Will the English army have left-handed swords men?" She asks.
"Unlikely. I have word King Henry favors his left hand, though I've not seen him wield a sword. And it's no matter his days of riding into battle are getting behind him," the Duke says, picking up a sword in each hand.
"You can seriously fence us both at the same time?" I ask, a little disappointed.
"Like batting a couple of kittens," the Duke scoffs.
The queen cocks an eyebrow at me, playfully, "Get him."
We both attack at once, and as predicted he bats us both away with very little trouble, knocking the swords from our hands with ease. I use magic to draw the swords back to both of us and we continue.
"Useful that," the Queen grins, as her sword whips back into her grip in time to block a blow.
"I aim to please, Your Majesty," I say, ducking a blow and striking for the Duke's leg only for him to intercept it.
After a few moments we're hot and sweaty and mildly pleased with ourselves.
"You're small, use it to your advantage. You probably won't have an opponent my size, but they'll still be bigger than you, stop trying to take my blows and redirect," the Duke tells her, tapping her blade, "Gideon, we've talked about being the hero and standing still, stop it. Move around, run if you have to, you've got magic, recover and you can find a way to trick your opponent or knock the sword from his hand."
I nod.
"I'll try," the queen says.
We go back at it. This time more paced with the Duke calling attacks and giving us pointers. I'm flushed and happy, sweat rolling down my back, sword tight in my hand.
"Oh good, there's two of them now," is all Gareth says as he joins us. We're about done by then.
The duke shrugs innocently, like he didn't arm us both when he did.
"We can do things by light of day if it pleases you, Your Majesty," Gareth says.
"We cannot, don't believe a word he says," The duke laughs.
"I enjoy the moonlight, and the quiet," the queen nods, "But my staff will prefer morning trainings with a tutor of your recommendation."
"We don't plan on letting 'em get close to you, that's kind of my job," Gareth says, leaning on a pillar. Gareth, again it took a stupid long time for him to talk about it while he's around me, is a longbowman. That's significant in that, longbows are incredibly hard to wield and fire accurately, it takes ten to fifteen years of training, and most longbow men are brought up as archers, they're trained for it and little else. The bows like they have, yew, have a draw weight of over a hundred pounds, a man like Gareth would probably have a hundred and fifty pound draw weight, and a six foot long bow. They can fire multiple arrows at once, firing ten to fifteen arrows a minute. That's ridiculously rapid especially for the era.
It makes sense that he is a bowman. Essentially it's a trade, and an elite one at that. His father was the crown prince, then king, he'd put his illegitimate son in a solid field that kept him decently around the place. Gareth has eventually implied he had older brothers, also illegitimate (sometimes called natural), and they were also bowmen, one I think still lives just elsewhere in Wales, the other passed he said or something like that?
Anyway, Longbows are intensely useful, they're basically the reason Henry V won at Agincourt and cost the French the 100s years war. Longbow men skeletons are easily distinguishable, due to damage and build up of their bones from using the weapon, including bone spurs on their hands. Long-bowmen in the 100 years war would easily fight in battles for ten to fifteen hours a day, keeping up that firing speed. They would of course switch out, or pause, but even so.
It's an elite fighting force, one that is sponsored by the crown, which incidentally is why France didn't have one. England, since the days of Edward III, has sponsored, that is paid for longbow archers as their private army and man has it paid off for them. A good king knows to take care of his archers, and what better way than to have one of his sons among them, albeit a natural son.
It's also likely why Gareth is popular in the village, he and other archers are decently paid and would be well respected, and plenty of parents would want a bachelor like him to take on their son as an apprentice. Most long-bowmen would train from age eight or so, to begin honing their craft. Besides the draw weight, getting used to aiming the thing is key. Unlike a recurve bow or crossbow, which I or anyone with even basic knowledge could shoot with some degree of accuracy, not just anyone can wield a longbow, in fact it's useless in the hands of anyone untrained.
Even nobility like Kings or our Duke, wouldn't necessarily be able to fire one. King Elis probably never at all learnt. Our Duke of Conwy probably knows how, but he's not trained enough to join the line, and he's probably on the tall side, while bows are usually special to their owner it pays to be able to switch out. King Henry, being a war enthusiast, probably has fired one out of mere curiosity at one point or another, but he wouldn't be anything like accurate either, due to the nature of the bow and shaft.
Shafts of longbows are basically spears, they're long, and usually have a barbed tip, they can easily punch through mail, and often plate armor, kill horses (that's sad I know, but) and be set on fire to take down enemy ships. It's basically the Gatling gun of the Middle Ages, and it's an impressively powerful tool to have. Welsh and Saxon armies favor the long bow for obvious reasons, Scots will use it but it's not as common and again, somewhere like Scotland might not be able to finance the training of longbowmen, which again takes easily ten years. It's a good pay out, but you're playing the long game if you're financing a longbow army. It kind of explains why Edward III and Henry V kept going to war, they've got all these longbow men, might as well use them.
All that's a round about way of Gareth saying that he and the longbow men, on the castle walls, are going to keep invaders back and well away from us. That's their specialty. Now, longbowmen can and do have to drop their bows and fight, either because they're out of arrows, or because the line of fighting has reached them, so they have to talented enough with the sword as well, but thing is, they're wearing maybe a little mail but no plate armor. Probably some leather armor but that's it, they have to be able to move to fire their bows. So if the army reaches them they're probably going to be killed. There are rumors about attackers cutting off the fingers of archers, that's unsubstantiated as there's little reason to leave a bowman alive. Also due to the lack of armor they're going to be very vulnerable in a hand to hand fight.  That doesn't stop them at Agincourt, when they ran out of arrows the longbowmen reportedly leapt into the melee, hopping onto the shoulders of the knights in full plate armor to stab them. Metal.
"I like to be prepared for every eventuality. I don't doubt your archers Gareth, or your aim, or your shafts," the queen nods her head to him.
Gareth smiles a little, nodding. He wants to keep us safe more than he wants to convince us we'll be safe. But I too like to assess every eventuality.